


Work Hard, Work Happy

by SusieCampbell



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: F/M, samsie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 13:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 11,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20390428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusieCampbell/pseuds/SusieCampbell
Summary: Normal was never a thing at Joey Drew Studios, but the installation of a machine disturbs any peace that once was had. The Ink Machine, Joey calls it. It doesn't matter what he calls it; Sammy knows something's up from the start.A Bendy and the Ink Machine AU that'll make you question who's to be trusted and who isn't.





	1. Chapter 1

POV of Sammy Lawrence  
**December 13, 1935**

Pipes clank and groan, and the few of us workers stand with Joey Drew on the balcony that hangs above the bustling warehouse. We’re observing some kind of machine, a large contraption that seems to be the hub of the ducts. I’m not sure what it is, but Joey seems proud of it. I am sure that this is what Wally and Thomas have been working on for months.

“What the hell is this?” I ask, leaning over the railing and watching the people scrambling about down below, “Is this why I’ve been getting kicked out of my office three times a week?”

“Yes, but it’s all worth it,” Joey begins, turning to face us anxious employees. I roll my eyes and glance over to Susie, who’s standing with Katharine and doing her very best to remain cheerful in such a dull situation. She doesn’t catch my gaze, but Grant does, and he politely nudges me to bring my focus back to the problem at hand.

“It’s a machine,” Thomas says in a gruff voice, taking his rightful place beside Joey, “It creates a special kind of ink that can be used downstairs in those gent makers.”

“The ink takes the form of anything you want!” Joey picks up, “and it can be used as a power source for the studio!”

“So this is where that 64,000 dollars went…” Grant mutters beside me. The corners of my mouth twitch to form a smile.

“I should’ve joined Norman instead of coming here. This is pointless,” I sigh with him, but strangely, not even Wally’s here. But he probably didn’t get the memo or something; it’s not like anyone could go missing in this studio. Joey would find you eventually.

“... But with this installment comes some ground rules,” Joey says sternly, his eyes locking with mine. I just squint, showing him I’m not intimidated by his ‘rules’.  
“There will be no going near the machine from now on, unless it’s a true emergency. And since the pipes run all along the studio, there are some places that will be blocked off. Sammy, utility shaft nine is off limits.”

“Jack’s the one who goes down there, not me,” I retort, “Now if the pipes are running through the music room, I’ll make you dismantle this damned thing.”

Thomas’ mouth forms a thin line, and but he just shakes his head. “They don’t run through the music room.”

  
“Even if they did, it wouldn’t be a big deal,” Susie replies sweetly, flashing me a smile that makes me unable to respond. Katharine turns around to smirk at me.

“Now that that’s all settled, you can get back to work! See me in my office if you need anything, but make sure to book an appointment!” Joey finishes with a grin, but it’s a fake grin; everyone knows that. Joey’s whole persona is falsified, and the ones who have been here the longest can tell. Hell, that’s why Henry left, after all.  
If it weren’t for Susie, Katharine, and Grant, I would’ve joined him.

The workers are slowly dissipating, so I join Katharine, Susie, and Grant as we exit the large warehouse and start through the first floor. Grant seems exhausted, and I feel bad for him, given the fact that he has to deal with all the money that got thrown into the gutter for this dumb machine.

“I swear, all this machine will do is mess up recording sessions,” I rant, running my hand through my hair, “Not to mention it seems dangerous in general.”

“Worst comes to worst we sue Joey or form a union,” Katharine suggests, smiling at Susie and Grant.

“No,” Grant interjects, straightening his glasses, “don’t sue him. Then I have to deal with that.”

“Union it is,” Katharine grins, and Susie giggles in response.

***

My office is no longer quiet but instead tainted by the sound of ink moving through the pipes. I can’t even think as I sit there, attempting to work out the melody to a certain song that won’t even feel like mine once it’s recorded. Bringing Jack Fain here was the worst decision Joey’s ever made, and he’s made a lot of dumb decisions. Then again, I already have a lot on my plate, and lyric-writing would only stress me out even more.

I hear a groaning noise, almost like machinery, and I immediately get up from my desk. “Oh, for the love of God.”

But I notice the hallway’s empty, and when I step out into it, I’m met with a strange and eerie silence. I check my my watch; it’s only 4:00. The band shouldn’t have left yet.

Still, I make my way towards the music-writing room that’s right next to Wally’s closet, and my fingers dance on the doorknob. I listen for a moment, but the sound is coming from something directly across.

The infirmary.

The noise gets louder.


	2. Chapter 2

POV of Sammy Lawrence

“Sammy?”

The Bronx accent of our janitor, Wally Franks, snaps me out of my paranoia and causes me to turn around. He’s got ink all over him, and his blond hair is now turned black because of the substance. But he still looks concerned for me, and his boyish grin makes me realize I’m being crazy. The noise is probably from these damned pipes; the workshop is safe, after all.

“What happened to you?” I regain my aggravated personality and immediately frown, “Why are you tracking ink all over my department?”

His smile fades, and he sheepishly glances back at the black footprints he’s left behind. “I’ll clean that up.”

“Alright, and take out my trash when you get a chance.” I shake my head and trudge back towards my office, seeing his reflection in my window slowly disappear, but a new one come into view. I smile to myself and leave the door open as I step inside my workspace.

“You’re not working on anything right now, are you?” Susie asks from the doorway, leaning her hand up against the frame. Her blonde hair is curled and hangs loosely above her shoulders, and a long-sleeve baby blue dress frames her body.

I sit down in the old wooden chair. “Yeah, but that doesn’t matter. You’re one of the only people I can stand in this place.”

“I feel honored,” she teases, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. I glance through the window again, seeing Wally miserably mopping up the ink stains. The pipes that line the hallways are looking like they’ll break some more, but Thomas just put them up not too long ago. I already have a bad feeling about this.

Susie smiles at me. “Remember when you told me how successful Alice Angel would be?”

I close my eyes, feeling her hand brush against the side of my cheek. My heart flutters in my chest.

“How could I forget?”

She leans in, just about to kiss me when someone else knocks on the door.

“I swear to God,” I mutter, getting up and hurrying to open it. Jack Fain stands there, tipping his bowler hat before handing me a record.

“Can you take this up to the theater? Wally won’t because he says it’s haunted or whatever,” he explains before grinning at Susie, “Miss Campbell.”

“Thanks, Jack,” Susie answers warmly while I hold the vinyl between my fingers.

Jack nods and starts back down the hall. “Any time.”

“Well,” I turn to Susie, “guess I’ll be right back.”

“You can find me in the music room,” she responds, “It’s empty, so I guess I’ll practice my lines.”

“I’ll be there.” I smile, and then I grip the record and start walking down the hallway.

The tiny theater is dormant as well, and I can’t help but wonder where everyone is today. Then again, influenza’s been spreading through the studio like the plague. And my musicians are probably all in the rec room again.

“Who made you delivery boy again?” Norman asks with a chuckle when I saunter inside the dark room. A cartoon featuring Boris the Wolf is playing on the projector, and I tilt my head, the score seeming familiar to me.

“Is this Sheep Songs?” I ask Norman, ignoring his comment.

He smiles. “The original score. Before someone made up that horrid song an’ turned it in to Joey with your name.”

I hold the record in my hand and wander over to the screen, watching the cartoon play out and listening to the music that plays.

“I still can’t believe that’s why Fain got hired. I told Joey, I didn’t write the ‘sheep sheep sheep, it’s time for sleep’ thing, but he didn’t believe me,” I continue with a frown. But I guess that just shows someone who’s been here from the beginning is out to get me.

The pipes above us groan, and Norman sighs as his eyes meet the already failing system. The record player and the projector skip, while the little light that shines goes out momentarily. When the power is restored, I mumble curses under my breath.

“This studio’s growing, though I’m not sure it’s a good thing,” Norman responds, his lips forming a thin line, “I can remember when it was just the animation and music department, and you, Joey, and Henry were just a couple of teens with a dream. Now this place goes so far into the ground that people get lost down there.”

“Hiring Susie was a good thing. Hiring more women for the band was a good thing,” I continue, gesturing to the pipes, “This machine is not a good thing.”

He smiles sadly, pushing his glasses to the bridge of his nose. “Why don’t you go back to Miss Campbell? I’m sure she’s waiting for you.”

I nod, knowing in my heart that she is, and no matter how angry I am about this ink machine, it’s not going to change anything. But still, I feel a strange presence here in this workshop. Maybe Wally’s right. Maybe this theater is haunted.

But right now, I’m going to go spend time with Susie.


	3. Chapter 3

POV of Sammy Lawrence

Susie Campbell is by far one of the most sincere people I know. She’s got a heart of gold, and I enjoy every moment I spend with her. The two of us sit in the unoccupied music room, and I’m at the piano bench while she paces back and forth with her script in hand. My fingers dance along the keys, moving from white to black, from black to white, and I’m truly content in the midst of my rising paranoia.

“I'm the cutest little angel, sent from above, and I know just how to swing. I got a bright little halo, and I'm filled with love... I'm Alice Angel! I'm the hit of the party, I'm the belle of the ball, I'm the toast of every town. Just one little dance, and I know you'll fall... I'm Alice Angel! I ain't no flapper, I'm a classy dish, and boy, can this girl sing. This gal can grant your every wish... I'm Alice Angel!”

I finish the outro and turn around, swinging my legs over the bench. “Perfect as always. Makes Fain’s lyrics seem decent.”

“I know you miss writing lyrics, Sammy,” Susie responds, sorting her papers and sitting down beside me, “but don’t take it out on poor Jack. He’s just the same as you are.”

I scoff. “He thinks my songs are nothing without his lyrics. He’s the most egotistical person I know.”

She raises an eyebrow suspiciously.

“Except Joey, of course,” I sigh, forgetting momentarily of his existence. How? Simply because I choose to pretend he doesn’t exist.

“I was waiting for you to realize that,” Susie replies proudly, “When’s the band recording today?”

I think for a moment, since today Norman’s conducting and I’m simply overseeing. I’ll be standing in the corner, making sure everything goes well and according to the music. “Three-thirty.”

“Try to go easy on them.” Susie kisses my cheek and wraps her arm around me, making my face change to a rosy color, and I’m immediately reminded of a memory that seems so far away now, even if it was three years ago. So much has changed in so little time.

**March 13, 1932 **

_I’m inside my office, pen in hand as I sit at my breaking wooden desk. A clock ticks every second, making known the close proximity of the deadline that threatens me. Tick, tock, tick, tock._

_ A knock startles me, and I don’t even look to see which musician it is before muttering “come in” to him or her. But when I turn to face the visitor, I realize it’s not a musician. Before me stands Susie Campbell, our first voice actress and newest hire. _

_Why she’d wanna see a trifle composer like me is unknown. She looks strangely happy in this dull place of work._

_ “Hey, Sammy!” she beams. I feel myself blush while she folds her hands together, her smile showering me with elation._

_ “You look happy,” I point out, standing up to stretch my arms out and avoid the music sheet that’s halfway filled. _

_“I am.” Susie walks over to me, taking my calloused hands in hers. Her touch is soft, and she stares so deeply into my eyes that I can’t help but melt right there. Her irises are so blue, like the ocean on a sunny day._

_ “They’re working on a new character upstairs,” I blurt out, but then I regain my confidence and fix a smile on my face, “Might require a… female touch…” _

_She leans in. “Tell me about this character.” _

_“Well,” I begin, a smile replacing my usually annoyed expression, “she’s pretty, a fallen angel, and she’s friends with Boris and Bendy.” _

_I see happiness grace her face, and I just have to continue. “Her name’s Alice. She’s stunning, and I definitely see her becoming more popular than Bendy someday.” _

_“Do you think they’ll give me the part?” she asks, lowering her voice. I glance out the window, seeing Wally Franks mopping up a spill in the hallway._

_ “Definitely.” I smile at Susie, feeling my heartbeat mimicking a train’s wheels as the vehicle rushes along the track, “There’s no doubt in my mind.”_

_ I hear snickering, and both Susie and I turn to the window again. Wally’s got a mad grin on his freckled face, but he simply tips his hat and walks away as my irritated expression returns._


	4. Chapter 4

POV of Sammy Lawrence

**December 14, 1935**

The ink machine is whirring and working much better today than yesterday. During my one break, I stand on the balcony that oversees the warehouse, observing this contraption and wondering why the hell Joey would make it. I haven’t tested out any of the gent makers downstairs, but Grant has, and he said they’re pretty faulty. That’s great. Just great. With my luck, the musicians will lose their instruments and replace them with ones made of ink.

“What are you doing here, Lawrence?” Joey’s voice rings out from behind me. Strangely, he doesn’t sound angry. He seems more confused, curious, even. 

“Getting a better look at this thing,” I answer, a hint of snark to my voice. Joey doesn’t notice though, and instead he moves to stand beside me, placing his hands on the railing.

“You know, sometimes I wonder what Henry would think of all this.”

I raise an eyebrow at him before directing my gaze back to the machine. “He’d think you’re crazy. Now why are you still talking to me?”

“Well, contrary to popular belief, I don’t hate you.” He slaps a hand on the back of my shoulder, and I purse my lips, wishing I was anywhere but here. I know he’s lying; everyone knows. And I’ve known our friendship’s been broken since he didn’t believe me about Sheep Songs.

“We’re the only two original members of this studio left,” Joey beams, “We’ve gotta make this place something big! And this machine, it’s gonna help us do just that.”

He gives me one last smile before walking back out of the room, not even warning me about being near the machine.

***

“I’m telling you,” I explain to Katharine as the two of us tune some of the instruments left astray in the music room, “he’s weird. I’m not sure what he’s planning on doing, but I have a bad feeling about it.”

Katharine’s fingers brush against the strings of the bass fiddle, creating an awkward tune that makes both of us cringe. She sighs, brushes a strand of her chestnut hair behind her ear, and continue attempting to tune it. “Joey’s always been weird, since the start of all this. But yeah, something isn’t right about this situation. He didn’t even tell you to get away from the machine, though?”

“Yeah, and I was the one he looked at when he first made that warning,” I scoff, setting a violin down in its case. I don’t understand why he’s being so nice all of a sudden.

“Huh. Well, to get away from this subject that’s clearly going to get you all paranoid again-”

“It will not!”

“-Are you gonna be here for the party tonight?”

Party? What party? I have to stop for a moment before picking up a clarinet, but Katharine seems unfazed as she finally finishes with bass fiddle. Party. I haven’t been to a party since Alice Angel was first created.

And during that party, I spent most of my time in my office.

“Since when is there a party, and why?” I ask her.

She sighs and stands up, stretching before walking over to the piano. “I don’t know, probably for the ink machine or something. It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“I’ll go if Susie goes,” I shrug, knowing she’s pretty much the only person who could get me to socialize. I would’ve talked to her during the party for Alice Angel, but all the guys were swarming her, so I got overwhelmed and decided to hang out in my office. That didn’t shock anyone; I’m known as a recluse.

“What’s that?” Katharine gets up and points across the room to the door, which has black liquid seeping underneath it. I stare, confused for a moment until I quickly grab all the instruments, tuned or not, and place them in their cases. Hopefully the piano won’t be a victim to the flooding, cause I’m not moving that. But, Katharine helps, and we rush into the storage unit that’s right next to the stage.

“One of the pipes must’ve burst,” Katharine sighs, pushing a violin onto the shelf. I grit my teeth, already not liking this machine. If any of my instruments get ruined, I’ll sue Joey.

“Dammit,” I curse, leaving a banjo against the wall and walking back out into the music room. The ink is spreading, moving slowly past the stage and towards us. Katharine throws the last instrument inside the storage unit before stepping out and letting the garage door close.

The two of us stand there, observing the mess this is becoming. Wally can already be heard from out in the hall, along with Norman and Joey Drew himself.

“Well, if this doesn’t get cleaned up soon, this should be an interesting party,” I sigh.


	5. Chapter 5

POV of Sammy Lawrence

That smile. There’s something about it that just freaks me out. 

The overhead lights flicker as I make my way down the empty hallway. My hands won’t stop shaking, and all I can make out is a lone Bendy cardboard cutout at the end. That smile. Something just isn’t right with that cartoonish, soul-seeing smile.

The scene goes dark for a moment, and all I can hear is the sound of my own song, Sammy Jam, playing from behind a closed door. There’s a slight glow from underneath it, almost beckoning me to reach out and grasp the knob. Oh God. What’s happening.

The lights are restored, but the cutout is no longer at the end of the hallway. I look behind me to see an awaiting darkness and a sign that reads “Ink Machine.” Just above the music is a low, guttural noise that shakes me to my core.

“_ Sammy! _”

I wake up and jerk my head to look through my office window. Wally stands there, holding a cardboard cutout of the Little Devil himself, and just the sight of that smile makes me jump out of my seat. Dammit. The newest song I was working on is stuck to my face.

Wally snickers as I peel the paper off and place it on the desk.

“Did you fall asleep? The party’s about to start, y’know,” Wally grins, propping the cutout against the closet.

“Did they take care of the flooding?” I ask tiredly. I immediately begin to rub my eyes, feeling drowsy although I just woke up.

“Thomas and I fixed it hours ago.”

My heart skips a beat, and I quickly grab the music sheet off the surface of my desk. “Wait, what time is it?”

“Six o’clock,” Wally shrugs. I curse before throwing open the door and rushing out into the hallway.

“Hey! Wait up!” Wally calls out to me, but after a few seconds of running he gives up and mumbles something under his breath. I look back at him to see him standing there defeatedly, then I rush down to Utility Shaft Nine.

“Jack!” I call out, moving past the infirmary and trudging through the underground hall. There’s ink remnants all over the floorboards and walls, sticking to the wood and making it a harrowing trip for me. I have to avoid getting black stains on my white button-down shirt, and I have to keep this paper safe.

“Jack!” I call out again, making a left and rushing through the corridor only to be met with boards of wood that block off the rest of the place. The lights are flickering up ahead of me, and I feel my heartbeat quicken as I stare into oblivion.

“Sammy?”

I turn to face Jack Fain, who’s sitting in a little room that’s been cut into the hallway. A Frank Sinatra record is spinning on the phonograph, creating a beautiful melody and bringing the music to life.

“The party’s about to start, but I need to finish this song,” I explain, surprised at how exhausted I am while I hold up the slightly smudged paper, “Could I sit down here so no one comes looking for me?”

He shrugs, straightening his bowler hat as he stands up. “Sure. I’m just ‘bout to leave anyway.”

I sit down right when he starts down the tunnel, and I immediately try and get back in song-writing mode. I lay the paper down in front of me and try and work out the rhythm so far.

That’s when the first warning happens.

A scream louder than I’ve ever heard rings out from below the studio. It knocks me sideways, and I have to immediately get out of my seat, but I stand rigid out of fear. The shrieking continues for a few more seconds, until it’s cut short by an unknown source.

“What the hell?” My heart is beating faster than ever, and I do my best to recall the voice. It sounded like some guy, hopefully not Jack. I mean, I don’t like him, but I wouldn’t wish he was dead. 

Then I see shadows, and I immediately make a run towards the stairs, rushing towards the music department and struggling to get away from this terrifying place. There’s something in the studio. Something in the workshop. And I may have just witnessed it kill someone.


	6. Chapter 6

POV of Sammy Lawrence

I can't get out of Utility Shaft Nine fast enough. 

Jack’s waiting in the hallway, and he’s shocked at how fast I bolt through. In the middle of tipping his bowler hat, he raises an eyebrow.

“Sammy-”

I don’t hear the rest of his sentence.

But I do throw open the door to the music room, hearing laughter and songs come from its occupants. The band is all set up and swinging, and Susie and Grant are in the corner with drinks in their hands. I make a beeline for them, pushing past some of the other employees to do so. Norman shoots me a glare, and Wally backs up into the wall to get out of my way.

“Hey!” some guy shouts, but I just growl, and he moves away. 

Susie looks up at me, concerned. “Sammy? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I may have. God, I don’t even want to think about it. 

“Where’s Thomas?” I ask them, surprising myself because he’ll definitely be annoyed if he knew I completely went against his warning. But I know he won’t be surprised, because I am a stubborn bastard that thrives off defying others. Not to mention the fact that I don’t listen to anyone about anything, unless it’s Susie or Katharine (sometimes Grant, but most of the time I just ignore whatever he says and do the opposite). 

“I think he’s downstairs,” Grant responds, pushing his glasses to his face, “Why?”

“Just need to ask him something.” I do my best to maintain my unbothered stance, but the looks I’m getting from my friends tell me I’m not doing that good of a job. The band continues to play in the background, but when I look to the musicians, I see they all have anxious faces due to the fact that _ I’m _now in the room. 

Whatever. That’s not my problem right now.

I turn back to Grant and Susie. “How far downstairs?” 

“The factory, I think,” Grant tells me. I shakily breathe out and make a run for the door.

Susie’s voice still rings out. “Sammy, what are you-”

But I close the door before the rest of her question can be heard.

***

The factory is a place I believe is the worst in the studio. With its incessant noise and groaning contraptions, it’s like a giant version of the ink machine, except it takes up an entire level. Because of my hatred of sound and anything that causes it, I don’t spend much time in this part of the workshop.

I enter the atrium and am greeted by an empty space with a giant statue of Bendy and a sign that reads “Heavenly Toys”. The bright side of this is that the place is dormant right now, so as I make my way across the wooden floor and to the stairwell, I can focus on the peace and quiet. 

Thomas Connor is on level nine of the building, which I decide to take the stairs to get to, because there’s no way in _ hell _I’m getting inside that elevator. But when he first sees me as he sits fixing some machinery near the Alice Angel themed entrance, he immediately curses and drops his wrench.

I draw in a sharp breath. “Thomas, I messed up.”

“Let me guess, you went down to Utility Shaft Nine,” he answers gruffly, picking his instrument back up and kneeling closer to the circuit box he’s opened.

“There was someone screaming, and then… then I saw shadows, and-”

Thomas stops me. “That’s impossible. No one else is down there because no one else is as dumb as you are.”

“Jack was, but he went back upstairs,” I wager, ignoring his comment about my stupidity. I would combat his words, but I’m freaking out right now. 

“Well,” Thomas places his wrench down and stands up, every sound he makes echoed throughout this wooden hellhole, “no one else would be down there. The only people who ever use that space are you and Fain.”

“I’m telling you: someone’s down there and was hurting someone!” I’m practically begging him, but it sounds crazy even to my ears. He raises a furrowed brow and honestly looks concerned for my well being.

“Never mind,” I mumble, turning and letting out a sigh of frustration as I trudge back to the door that hides the eerie stairwell. I practically slam the door behind myself before continuing up. My fight or flight response has been activated since twenty minutes ago, and I can feel myself shaking as I climb the steps. 

A bunch of instruments are clumped together on the next level. There’s a piano, violin, banjo, and a few others that are just _ there _for some reason. Why are they not with the others? I don’t know, but I’m not moving them back.

But the main thing that catches my eye is the old leather journal laying on the wooden floor. It’s almost as if this is a trap for me; writing and instruments are two of my favorite things.

I make sure no one’s looking, then snatch the journal up and take it with me as I go.

It’s contents say it belongs to a Harold Fischer. Who is that exactly? All I know is that I’ve never heard of him before, and I’ve worked here since the start, back when Henry and Joey got along and we were all best of friends. 


	7. Chapter 7

POV of Sammy Lawrence

**October 21, 1930**

_ It’s a beautiful autumn day, and Henry, Joey, and I are sharing champagne in Joey’s office. The studio’s still a baby, and honestly, so are we. Seventeen/eighteen and fresh out of high school, our lives are already filled with success and triumph. _

_ “I can’t believe these cartoons are actually taking off,” Henry says, starry eyed. He holds his glass tightly in his hands, unable to believe that this is where we are now.  _

_ Joey grins as he sits behind his cluttered desk. “Well, with your art and Sammy’s music, we’re gonna go farther than we could ever dream of.” _

_ My music.  _ My  _ music. I look at Joey in surprise to make sure I heard him right. _

_ “My music?”  _

_ Joey beams. “Of course your music! Every song you write is a masterpiece!” _

_ I can’t help but smile, but as Joey rambles on about my talent and skill, Henry looks blank, almost upset while he nurses his drink.  _

_ I’m too elated to care about his jealousy. _

**Present Day**

The old journal lays on my desk and is a victim to my icy stare. I haven’t torn through its pages yet, only the inside cover to find the name of its owner. Harold Fischer. Who the  _ hell _ is Harold Fischer?

And why is there a note addressed to me?

“Are you okay?” 

Susie’s voice causes me to quickly hide the old book in my desk drawer, which I practically slam shut. I turn my head towards her and do my best to to seem normal, especially after my freak out that most likely worried Katharine, Grant, and Susie. 

“I’m fine,” I say, my voice slightly wavering. Lies. But I could never be honest with my girl about this. She’ll think I’m crazy just as Thomas does.

Maybe I am crazy. The memories of the screams are already slipping from my mind.

Susie places her hand on her hip as she stands in the doorway. She stares at me, her expression soft but knowing. “You don’t seem it.”

“I’m fine,” I repeat, “Just need to finish this song.”

“Well, if you decide to join the party, let me know.” Susie smiles.

I nod, already knowing I won’t be taking her up on the offer. Staying calm, I watch her exit to the dark hallway. The overhead lights flicker as she walks. She’s so beautiful, and my heart leaps at the thought of practicing lines with her tomorrow.

When the coast is clear, I open my drawer and take the journal out again. To Sammy Mason Lawrence, it reads, right underneath the name of the owner.

Alright, Harold. I’m here. Let’s see if we can find what you wanted me to see.

“Sammy!” Wally runs right up to my office window, “I saw a ghost! I saw a ghost!”

“There are no ghosts, Wally,” I growl, hiding my book behind my arm. He straightens his hat and stares at the desk with wide eyes.

“What’s that?” he asks, his tone innocent but his intentions unknown. He’d most likely take the book from me and drench it in ink while trying to read it, especially since all he’s been doing is working with pipes and the damned machine itself. 

“It’s nothing. Just an old journal,” I lie. Is this statement a lie? It could  _ be _ just an old journal. But I can’t find out with Wally staring at me through my office window. 

“Go talk to Shawn,” I offer, “He seemed bored.”

Seemed. I haven’t even seen him in a few days. He works in the factory; I hate the factory. It’s kinda a given.

Wally frowns and stalks off. “Fine,” he mutters, amongst other things. To avoid any further interruptions, I get up from my creaking wooden chair to lock my office door. Then I practically rush back to the book, flipping to the first entry. The date is smudged, but the rest of the words are a legible mix of print and cursive.

“ _ The animation department is buzzing right now, especially with the official start of business. Everyone’s excited for our first cartoon to air, whenever that’ll be. But I spoke with Joey the other day, and he seems pretty confident in Bendy the Dancing Demon. Henry, though, didn’t. His opinions weren’t expressed to me, but he’s had a sour look since Joey pulled him into his office earlier today. I don’t know; I don’t get into studio drama. But, I can’t wait for what this job brings me! _ ”

“So you’re an animator,” I say to the absent Harold Fischer, “that could explain why I’ve never heard of you before.”

I skip a while to an entry that’s farther back and notice the next date is smudged as well, which is a strange coincidence, but it’s obvious that this is from 1932 or so. 

“_I ran down to the music department today to speak with Dave. Mr. Lawrence was in his office and came out just to tell me to get lost. I’ve never seen him this angry before, but I heard he spoke with Joey about something earlier. Seemed heartbroken when he left Mr. Drew’s office. The founding trio has been a mess lately, but no one knows why.”_

I frown and take a moment to reflect. Yep, definitely 1932, which is just lovely. This isn’t my main concern though. I know what Harold Fischer’s referencing. 

But why is this book addressed to me? 


	8. Chapter 8

POV of Sammy Lawrence

**December 15, 1935**

The journal becomes my companion in every way. It’s an object I carry with me more than my instruments, and I don’t even tell Susie, Grant, or Katharine about it. The diary entries aren’t much help to me, but there aren’t many. Once I’m through with them, I’m greeted with a title that’s spread across two pages.

“ _ The guide to surviving Joey Drew Studios _ ,” I read to myself as I walk through the animation department. I don’t need this crap. I’ve been here since the beginning.

I flip the page anyway, a little curious, to be honest. 

“Don’t you have a job to do?” an inker guy asks me, but I just growl at him and walk towards the back stairwell. My steps take me down to the music department while my eyes scan over the writing.

“ _ Number one _ :  _ The inkers get cranky around 2:00; don’t bother them because they’ve got a ton of work to catch up on _ .” I check my watch.

It’s exactly 2:00.

The pipes running down the stairs with me seem to get louder.

“What the hell?” I mutter, looking at the next rule. My name is listed, which isn't surprising.  _ I’m  _ the thing to survive in Joey Drew Studios.

“ _ Number Two: The sign reads Sammy Lawrence for a reason. Don’t call him Sam or Samuel or anything besides Sammy or Mr. Lawrence. Talk to him about what he likes; you may just get him on your side _ .”

“Alright, screw you,” I say, reaching the music department’s lobby. Musicians are rushing about, and I have to push my way through as I look up for a moment. I skip some pages to get to some more interesting rules.

“ _ Number Twenty-four: Joey Drew is messing with strong and mysterious magic. Don’t get involved and don’t ask questions. _ ”

Magic? What magic? The pipes groan again, possibly reacting to my presence. Alright, this is already out of hand. More vague references to mysteries and haunting plague the pages, and I quickly hide the book under my shirt before deciding to go to one of the people that I trust most.

***

All the musicians are spread throughout the workshop for some reason, and I make a beeline for Level S, where hopefully no one except the gent workers is. I don’t care for any of those people, but Grant Cohen’s good to me, and I’m happy to talk to him. He, Katharine, and Susie are some of the only people I enjoy conversing with. And Norman, but he’s hard to find.

I knock on the door to Grant’s office, immediately answered with a muffled “come in.” 

The room is nicer than the last time I was in here, and I immediately notice Grant added a table and chairs to the space. Aside from his desk, he had a large amount of space, so I’m glad to see he did something with it.

Grant looks up from his desk and straightens his glasses. It seems he’s working on the total cost of the studio. 

“Hey, Sammy. What brings you down to the abyss?”

I take the book out from underneath my shirt, causing Grant to raise an eyebrow at me. My hands keep trembling from what I guess is fear, but I saunter over to the table and take a seat on it, ignoring the chairs of course.

“Do you know a Harold Fischer?” I ask as I hold the journal in my lap, “His journal showed up near level k.”

“Haven’t heard his name since I first started here,” Grant replies, heaving a sigh before turning around and straddling his chair so he can face me. His jet black hair is unkempt, and he seems a bit tired. But I guess that’s normal for a person in charge of the finances of Joey Drew.

“Really? That’s strange,” I say, glancing back down at the old leather book. Should I show him the stuff about Joey? It’s making me nervous, and if the journal had a note written to me, maybe it’s  _ only  _ for me. I should at least look over some more of its contents first. But the screaming, strange feelings, and now this journal? I can’t help but wonder what the hell is going on here. 

Maybe my answer can be found by sneaking into Joey’s office.

Yes, that’ll definitely help me out here.

“You know, I just realized I have to go practice lines with Susie,” I say suddenly, stepping back down onto the floor. Grant frowns and pushes his glasses against the bridge of his nose.

“You’ve been acting weird for a few days now,” he points out. I just shrug, holding the journal to my chest before hurrying towards the door.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he warns playfully. I smile, walking into the hallway and knowing I’ll do exactly that. 


	9. Chapter 9

POV of Sammy Lawrence

**June 13, 1932**

_ “I think you’ll like these lyrics I wrote for the song.” I beam at Joey as I sift through the numerous papers I’ve gathered for our meeting. He asked me to come to his office, so naturally, I know it’s to talk about what I’ve been working on lately. Though he seems tired, with narrowed eyes and a serious gaze. I just can’t shake my exuberant glow. _

_ “Here,” I say, handing him a sheet. He takes it and places it down, not even sparing a glance.  _

_ I don’t hide my shock. _

_ “We need to talk about the lyrics you turned in for Sheep Songs,” Joey begins, “I don’t think you took that seriously enough.” _

_ I pause, holding the rest of my lyrics and words to my chest. “What do you mean?” _

_ He unfolds a piece of paper he had on his desk and gives it to me. My gaze doesn’t leave him as I slowly reach for it, and I can feel myself grow queasy.  _

_ I take a deep breath and examine it. _

_ “Sheep, sheep, sheep, it’s time for sleep. Rest your head; it’s time for bed. In the morning, you may wake, or in the morning, you’ll be dead,” I read aloud before folding it up, “This isn’t my work.” _

_ It’s true. This fits the tempo, but it’s not something I’d write. This isn’t my work at all. But Joey just continues to stare, his gaze now icy as he stares me down. Why doesn’t he believe me? He has no reason not to. _

_ “If you’re not going to take this job seriously, then I’m downgrading you and hiring a lyricist. Write the music, not the words,” Joey sighs, running a hand through his messy brown hair, “maybe then you’ll take it seriously.” _

_ “What?!” I stand up and throw my hands down on his desk, “Joey, this is my department; you can’t take this away from me! I didn’t write those stupid lyrics!” _

_ Joey scoffs. “I don’t believe you. You know, maybe this’ll teach you to be more like Henry. He’s been my right hand man more often than you have lately. Maybe it’s that girl we hired. I knew she’d be a distraction.” _

**Present Day**

I do my best not to scream at the memory while facing the closed door that leads to Joey’s office. It’s been years, yet the incident still haunts me. Then again, it’s the reason why I can’t turn in lyrics today. Not to mention it’s why Jack and I don’t get along. 

At least I found a good hiding spot for the journal. Right underneath the loose floorboard in my office. That annoyance finally came in handy. 

My hands shake as I turn the doorknob, pushing the door open. No one’s heard from Joey in a while, and I know I haven’t since I went to look at the ink machine. Hopefully he doesn’t come back any time soon.

A pipe on the wall behind me bursts, and I quickly close the door as I step inside the cluttered office. Everything’s a mess, and ink is already starting to seep into the room. That damned machine. 

The office is big, with bookshelves running along its windowless back wall. The desk is in the middle of the room, and it’s filled with papers and pens. An axe lays behind glass and attached the the wall in case of an emergency.

I pick up a piece of paper that has weird symbols on it, and I remember what the journal said. Strange magic. This definitely looks strange. 

More writings and drawings litter the floor and trash can, most of them doodles of Bendy, Boris, or Alice Angel, but every so often, I find more weird symbols. I hold one of them up to light; it looks like a pentagram or something.

“What the hell?” I say, and almost on queue, the lights shut off, leaving me in the dark. Probably just a power outage. But when I listen for the shouts of employees or visitors, I hear nothing but an unsettling atmosphere. Silence is prominent now, and not the good kind. The pipes stopped their pumping, and it seems something’s happened, something bad. The only sound is the ink flowing underneath the door.

I drop the paper and try to feel for a flashlight in the pitch black room. 

Thankfully, one’s on the floor and beside Joey’s desk, so I fall to my knees and grasp the tool. The ink soaks through my clothes, slowly filling the office. I hit the flashlight against the palm of my hand a few times, and its light switches on. 

I shakily stand up and shine the glow on the door.

That same screaming begins to start again, the kind I heard in Utility Shaft Nine. It makes my heart start to race, and suddenly I’m plagued by voices, ones that make me almost collapse against the wall. 

“ _ Take the axe. Take the axe _ .” 

In a trance of some sort, I smash the glass with my elbow and take the weapon in my throbbing hand.


	10. Chapter 10

POV of Sammy Lawrence

“Dammit!” I grit my teeth and struggle to keep my hold on the axe despite the pain and blood that flow from my arm. My pant legs are black up to me knees now, but my shirt is stained with bright red. I’m a little dizzy, but still I trudge through the congealing ink to pull open the door.

The hallway is completely dark, and I’m reminded of the dream I had a few days ago. I shine the light in front of me, now able to see the rest of the dark corridor and workshop. My breathing is heavy, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not alone, even when everything seems empty.

“Susie! Grant! Katharine!” I shout, straining my voice to be heard, “Norman! Thomas! Joey!”

I’m so desperate that I call for Joey, but I never hear anything back but my echo. My feet ache from walking through the ink, and the floorboards seem to freak beneath me. “Susie! Someone, please!”

I hear something like a crash behind me, and I grip the axe, turning around to see a creature of some sorts forming. With one trembling hand holding the flashlight, I use my other to raise the old axe.

“What the hell?” It’s a person made of ink, but it doesn’t have any legs, moving only through the substance it’s made of. It groans and drifts towards me. 

“Joey, what did you do?” I ask, horrified as I take a swing at the monster. It screeches, so I hit it a few more times with my blade, until the creature falls into a puddle and disappears. 

“Oh my God.” I can barely speak, and two more ink monsters pop up, forcing me to hack mercilessly at them. One grabs hold of my leg, and I scream as I use the axe to send it back to whatever hell it came from.

“Sammy! Is that you?!” The familiar New York accent makes me turn around, and for once I’m so happy to see Wally with his mop. But since I’m covered in blood and holding an axe in my other hand, Wally backs away, fear evident from his expression.

“Wally, over here,” I tell him, “I just hit my arm. That’s what the blood came from.”

He slowly walks over to me, dropping his mop so he can take the flashlight, which he shines on me. “There are these weird ink things! I- I don’t know what’s going on!”

“Shine that thing away from me, Franks!” I have to look away when the light hits my eyes, but I sigh and face him, “I don’t know what’s going on either, kid. Let’s go find someone who can help. I don’t know where the hell everyone disappeared to.”

Wally nods, and the two of us begin our trek to the nearest stairwell. He stays close to me, shakily shining the flashlight to lead our way. The floorboards creak beneath us with every step. It’s almost as if they’re rotting from just a few minutes of ink exposure.

“Stay close.” I drop my usual irritated expression to keep an eye on Wally, since whatever’s going on is obviously serious. I keep hearing the screaming ever so faintly, and it bothers me so much that I curse and grip the handle of my axe.

“What the hell is that noise?” I huff, turning to push open the door to the stairs. Wally fixes his hat and stares at me curiously.

“What noise? I don’t hear nothing.”

My lips press together to form a thin line while my heart turns into hummingbird wings. Alright.

The music department is more flooded than it was the day Katharine and I were down here, and it’s a struggle to move through the lobby. The sign with my name on it has inky handprints, which, upon closer inspection with the help of the flashlight, only have three fingers and a thumb. My grip on the axe falters, and my bloodied arm seems to throb even more.

“What the hell?” I repeat, holding my hand up to compare with the print, “I… I don’t understand…”

A clanging noise sounds from the pipes, making Wally and I immediately jump into action. He shines the light over to the left of the sign and points. “Let’s check the music room. Maybe Norman or someone’s in there.”

“Good idea.”

When we trudge over to the door and push it open, we immediately come face to face with the barrel of my tommy gun. 

“Wait!” I scream with Wally echoing my word.

The wielder sees us, and she gasps and lowers the weapon. 

“Sammy! Wally!” Katharine smiles before rushing us inside, “Thank God.”

“What the hell is going on?” I notice the giant room is dimly lit with gas lanterns, “and why’d you take my Tommy gun?”

She takes Wally’s flashlight, and almost on queue, Susie comes into view, walking through the ink that’s up to our knees. The tips of her blonde hair are stained black, and she looks a bit fearful but still looks at me. Beside her, though, is a man with messy red hair and a familiar face.

Finally, the axe falls and lands in front of me.

Henry beams at me. “Hey, old friend.”


	11. Chapter 11

POV of Sammy Lawrence

After the flooding ceases, the lot of us claim the storage room as a place to sit and talk for a while, and Henry explains his story and what he saw when he first came for his visit. A tiny lantern gives light to the cramped room, though I’ve forgotten how much of this space I’ve made my own. A desk is set up with pens and papers, not to mention the cans of bacon soup that litter the place. There’s even a first aid kit, which Susie took out to wrap my damaged elbow.

“I came to visit a few days ago, too,” Henry explains, sitting pretzel-legged and leaning against the wooden wall, “I would’ve said ‘hi’ to you, but someone said you were talking to Thomas Connor. I don’t know the factory all that well, so.” 

“It’s okay,” I wave it off and let him finish while Wally stares in awe at the veteran animator. Susie pulls the wrap a bit tighter when I move my arm, and Katharine looks at me, concerned. 

“Hold still,” Susie advises after apologizing. I grimace and nod, but she gently kisses my cheek to make my heart flutter. I feel safe in her arms.

Henry smiles at us, and I still can’t believe he left about two years ago. “When I first came in, I saw the studio was dark, so I took a flashlight from my car and poked around a bit. The whole place seemed eerie, and on my search for Joey, I found no one else in the whole workshop. Until I came face to face with this… monster version of Bendy…”

“Bendy?” Wally and I echo before I scoff.

“He’s a cartoon character,” I say.

Henry sighs. “My thoughts exactly.”

“But Joey’s been missing,” Katharine chimes in, “ever since a few days after he unveiled the ink machine.”

“Do you think he could’ve done something,” Susie asks, finishing with my arm and gently motioning for me to lower it. 

I remember the magic Harold Fischer referenced. Strong, dangerous magic and rituals. I breathe in deeply and wonder if… No… Would it even be possible? Those legless ink creatures exist. Maybe some dark magic is inside this ink, or the machine producing it. 

I prepare for disbelief and horror. “What if Joey turned himself into Bendy, or tried to? He is unnaturally obsessed with his characters.”

“Sammy, that’s crazy,” Susie responds, closing the first aid kit and sliding it underneath the desk, “That’d have to be-”

“Magic, I know,” I interrupt and quickly stand up, “I have a journal that talked about Joey and his rituals. I can run and get it and show you four.”

Katharine’s eyes widen. “Is it even safe out there?”

I strain my arm while reaching for my axe, and both Wally and Henry look up at me. “I’ll take a weapon, and Henry, you can come with me. We’ll be right back, I promise. Just watch Wally for me.”

“Hey!” Wally protests, but Katharine just laughs and pats him on the back while Susie fights a giggle. Henry grins, happy to join me on my adventure, and I wield my weapon of choice, leaving him to the flashlight. 

I give my darling Susie a kiss before heading out with my old friend.

We walk with caution up to my office, jumping with every clang and creak we hear. I notice the axe shakes from my weakened grip, but I won’t give it to Henry, no matter how much he insists.

“So you and Susie got together?” he asks, lowering his voice to a whisper as I push open the door to my isolated song-writing room.

I drop my axe for a moment and take his flashlight, fighting a smile and flushed face. “Yeah, she’s a doll, and we spend a lot of time together.”

“That’s great.”

I shine the light on the floor and carefully pull one of the boards up. Underneath it is the leather journal belonging to the absent employee, and I quickly grab it before standing back up. “Hey, Henry?”

“Yeah?” He keeps his cool and collected expression, but I swallow the lump in my throat and take hold of my axe.

“Thomas Connor wanders throughout the studio like Polk does. How did you know we were in the factory?”

Henry doesn’t respond, and I press my lips together while facing his now anxious stance.

“I asked you a question,” I repeat, hearing the groans of the workshop trying to piece together a message for me. I need it from him, but I can already tell what the answer is.

“I asked someone,” Henry shrugs, how unfazed, “one of your musicians.”

Liar. “All the musicians were at the party, if that’s truly when you came. Susie and Grant said nothing of your visit; no one did, actually, which makes me wonder if you were down in the factory with us.”

Henry’s uneasy smile falters, and he moves with catlike reflections to slam me against the wall, causing both my axe and book to hit the ground. I’m so caught off guard that I just stare at him and watch his cold hearted gaze.

“Alright, so maybe I wrote that journal and used one of the names belonging to an old employee,” Henry says coldly, “but that was because framing you with that Sheep Songs thing wasn’t enough! You still need to pay for all your sins, and I’ll make sure you do!”


	12. Chapter 12

POV of Sammy Lawrence

I stare at Henry, horrified as his menacing smile cuts deep into my soul. Both his hands are on my shoulders, and he’s firmly pinned me against the wall. I knew something was up, but I’d never expected this. This is… crazy, beyond belief.

“What are you talking about?” I grit my teeth against his force, “Are you saying you tried to get me fired?”

“Failed with it, but yeah,” Henry grins, “now I have a much bigger task though, since Joey went and turned himself into a demon using my ink.”

What the hell? “Your ink? Thomas built the machine.”

“But he didn’t fill it. I did that. If you thought I left, well, you are  _ very  _ mistaken. I’ve always been here, watching your antics and finding out everyone’s dirty little secrets. I know about the fling you and Grant Cohen had. I know about the satanic magic Joey got into. I know everything,” Henry’s eyes seem to flash, and my heart is beating faster than ever before. My limbs feel numb from the anxiety that’s washing over me, but I still struggle against Henry’s grip.

“You know about all that?” Grant. He even knows about me and Grant. “Oh my God…”

The lights come back on, and with it, the ink machine. The broken pipes begin to leak profusely, and ink spills out quickly enough to flood the place again. I look ahead to the end of the hallway and see an evil face; a seven foot monster with a foot twisted backwards limps forward. With deformed hands and eyes covered by ink, demon Bendy stalks the corridor, running his gloved hand along the wall to create a horrifying screech. 

“Joey,” I breathe out, seeing his appearance finally reflect who he is on the inside. That screaming down in the infirmary was probably him, since he looks so tortured now. “H-how?”

“Just follow the rituals, and you can have soul-stealing ink in no time,” Henry says as he pulls me forward, dragging me through the substance and out into the hall. I grip his shirt, trying to pull myself away or hold on for dear life. But the way he looks at Joey, almost proudly, instills more fear into me than I could imagine.

“You’re his golden boy. If only he cared now like he did before.” The ink begins to rise with Henry’s words, and I stare at him while shaking from fear. 

“Where is everyone?” I blurt out, but Henry just slowly turns his head, smiling again.

“Where you’re about to go right now.”

He lets go of me and shoved me under the ink without hesitation.

“Hmph-” Any response I have is cut off as he holds me underneath the watery matter, and I close my eyes, feeling every inch of my skin start to burn. I can’t hold my breath for long, and as long as he’s pushing me down, I can’t move at all. No, no, no-

I won’t let it end like this. I’ll live for Susie and her beautiful voice. I’ll live for Katharine and her feminist stance. I’ll live for Grant, for the memories we shared.

And I’ll live for all those workers who look up to me like Wally does.

I’m not going to Hell today. You are, Henry.

I deliver a swift kick to his shin and watch him fall.

“You bastard!” Henry shrieks just as I breach for air. Both of us are coughing and spluttering from the ink, and demon Bendy watches with curiosity as we fight each other. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch more ink creatures rising from the flood.

“Dammit!” I shout, pinning Henry underneath the liquid, “This is too far! Trying to get me fired is one thing, but murder?!”

My leg is grabbed by one of the legless monsters, and I’m dragged underneath again while the boards underneath us creak and start to give way. Oh  _ hell  _ no. You’ve gotta be kidding-

Both of us scream as the floorboards snap, and I almost grasp onto the man trying to kill me for support. He kicks me away, and we fall down, down, down, to the abyss.

The Heavenly Toys Factory welcomes us with its flickering lights and overflowing fountain of ink, but miraculously, the fall doesn’t kill or injure me too badly. Instead I’m left lying in a puddle for a few minutes, staring up at the damage we’ve caused. This better not come out of my paycheck.

I groan and lay my head down against the cold floor, but when I hear a low, almost guttural noise, I turn to look at Henry. He’s on his knees, with blackened veins accented by his pale skin. Ink covers him, dripping from his hair and face, and he cups his hands to down some of it. I stare in horror at him.

“What the hell?” I’m suddenly able to get up, and I quickly back away in the giant room. “That’s poison!”

He smiles at me, slowly getting to his feet as more of the legless creatures rise with him. “To you, but not to me.”

Henry gestures to the already spilling fountain, and it shatters completely.


	13. Chapter 13

POV of Sammy Lawrence

The ink creatures swarm me without hesitation, and I’m caught in the middle of them all. I have no weapons but my bare hands, and it takes multiple hits to turn just one monster into a puddle. With all of them grasping me and trying to pull me under the rising ink, I panic.

“I thought you were smart, Lawrence,” Henry says from up on the stairs that run behind the fountain, “The fun hasn’t even started yet!”

I gasp and feel myself slip, dozens of words and memories ringing through my head. A collection of voices, some talking sweetly while others screaming at me to leave. Familiar people, familiar places.

“ _ Tell me more about the character they’re working on upstairs _ ,” Susie’s voice, seductive and smart in my empty office.

“ _ Both of us could be fired, you know that, right? _ ” Grant’s voice, nervous and quiet in the abyss of the workshop.

“ _ The ink takes the form of anything you want! _ ” Joey’s voice, hopeful and excited in the gigantic warehouse.

_ Anything you want. _

_ Anything. _

I slowly get to my feet again, forcing the monsters apart so I can get to a gent machine that’s right next to one of the couches. Henry shouts at me from the steps, but I use all my force to grab onto the machine while the groaning creatures pull at me. The gent machine looks like a mailbox almost, so I scoop some ink up with my hands and place it in the drawer. Setting the dial on the side to the picture of an axe, I pull the lever.

My weapon falls into the ink, and I wield it proudly.

“NO!” Henry screams as I swing at the monsters that plague me, “God better damn you to hell for that!”

I slash through the ink creatures like a knife through butter. “Jokes on you! I’m already going to hell!”

But the more ink creatures my axe hits, the more it starts to turn back to its former substance. The ink seemingly climbs up my hands and arms, possessing a mind of its own as I begin to panic and try and pull it off. The weapon completely disappears, and I fall to my knees, screaming in agony. No, no, no-

“You might be wondering who these creatures are,” Henry begins, coming back down to where I am while the remaining ink monsters swarm me, grabbing and trying to drag me under, “but I don’t think you wanna know.”

Henry’s got the upper hand again, and it feels like we’re going back and forth with attacks. He’s right; I don’t wanna know anything more about this nightmare come to life, and right now, I’m just doing my best not to drown as I’m pulled onto my back again. My ability to see is interrupted, and every sound becomes muffled to my ears. I can’t breathe. I  _ can’t  _ breathe. I can’t-

Right when I come to the surface, gunshots ring out from behind. Gunshots. Oh God, that better be Katharine.

“Hey, idiots! Sammy, duck your head!” I hear her voice right as I reach the surface, so I groan and submerge myself again to avoid the line of bullets. Someone screeches, and I feel the ink become significantly warmer. 

I gasp and pop back up, my eyes focusing on Henry and his nearly-lifeless body, which blood seeps from in a horrific manner. His eyes flicker towards me, and he laughs before the ink reclaims him completely.

The legless creatures disappear with him.

Katharine wades over to me, the tommy gun still in her grasp as she lends me a hand. Wally stands skittishly next to her, but she smiles. “We’re not finished yet.”

I look to the stairs to see Susie emerge with Grant and Thomas, who both seem shaken up. Meanwhile, my darling Susie walks over and places her hand on my shoulder, even though I’m soaked from the ink and blood. She throws her arms around me without hesitation, but I look back at where my old friend now lies. He’s gone now, and I can’t stop staring. Memories resurface again, ones that I’ll never be able to suppress again.

**July 19, 1929**

_ “Joey Drew Studios. Wow, I can’t believe we actually did it.” _

_ Joey, Henry, and I stand in front of the small building that’s located in the heart of Queens, New York. The large sign reads our own cartoon workshop’s name, and God, I can’t believe it’s finally finished. Henry is wide-eyed at our success, but I just smile and listen to the cars honk and beep as they drive by on this busy street. Joey seems beyond proud and turns to me and Henry. “I’m gonna go introduce myself to some of the workers I hired!” _

_ “Alright,” Henry quickly responds for me, and the two of us watch Joey walk up the steps and through the creaking wooden door. Then Henry and I glance at each other, and his boyish face lights up. _

_ “I’ve already got some ideas for episodes,” he begins, running his hand through his hair, “I can’t wait to see what the studio looks like.” _

_ “I can’t either,” I admit, hoping for a nice music-writing room, recording room, and maybe an office, “Should be interesting.” _

_ He lightly punches my arm with a smile. “Hey, we’ll get through this together. Pals till the end, right?” _

**Present Day**

But the end is already here, and Death has already taken Henry from all of us. Yet when I stare at his pale and ink-flecked face, I’m not even sure how to process my grief, and I’m not sure if I feel anything at all. I still don’t even know how this happened. 

“This wasn’t him,” I finally say, coming back to reality to find Thomas, Grant, Katharine, Wally, and Susie gathered in a circle around me. The ink is slowly draining again, and I feel Grant’s hand land sympathetically on my shoulder as he wades towards me.

He speaks darkly, his eyes reflecting the darkness of the workshop. “Let’s go find Joey.”


	14. Chapter 14

POV of Sammy Lawrence

Thomas has more knowledge than any of us about the machine, so we quickly listen to him before deciding what our next move is. It’s a giant game of chess, that’s all it is. We’re all pawns, but with thought and planning, we can take down the king that is Joey Drew. I run through everything that happened, from the screaming and the journal to Henry’s failed revenge.

“The machine spreads the ink throughout this place,” Thomas explains, “It’s the brain of this thing. Destroy it, and we should be able to reverse the transformations.”

“That’s what Henry implied,” I follow up.

Grant sighs. “I still can’t believe he was no good. He created Bendy and Alice Angel…”

“Jealousy can turn people into monsters,” Susie says quietly, squeezing my hand. She says this as if she knows from experience. With how little I truly know about her life before this company, I wonder if she does.

“Alright, so we just destroy the machine,” I repeat, causing Wally and Katharine to look at me in surprise, probably because I’m pushing away so many topics. 

“Yes, but you need to be specific with what you toy with on that machine. It’s dangerous to play with,” Thomas counters, attempting to calmly assuage my urge to fix everything right away. 

Unfortunately, I’m not in the mood, and I just can’t stop looking at Henry. “I can do it. I know this stuff.”

“You don’t,” Thomas repeats, running a hand through his ink-covered hair.

“Let’s just all go up,” Katharine finally sighs, glancing at me. She knows how stubborn I am; I won’t back down from this. 

There’s quick chatter and discussion between the lot of us, but Thomas and Katharine decide to lead the way, with Grant and Susie following behind. 

“I have a bad feeling about this…” Wally mumbles from beside me while we take our spots in the back of the line, “You look… pale…”

“I’m fine,” I snap, catching a quick glimpse of my nearly translucent hand. My veins stand out, seeming almost… darker than usual. 

I pocket my hand and follow the others up the stairs and to the main floor.

***

Floorboards creak and groan as the group advances to the balcony that overlooks the warehouse. Everything looks so vacant, and I can only hope the destruction of this machine will bring back the daily nuisances of the workshop. I never thought I’d say that, to be honest.

Katharine left the Tommy gun downstairs at Thomas’ instruction. The best weapon to use is an axe, which have been spread throughout for this sole purpose (that and a blocked door during a fire). It’s almost as if fear has surrounded the machine ever since it was first conceived in the darkness of Joey’s mind. 

“Stay here. Pull that switch over there if it starts to flood,” Thomas instructs, pointing to a control panel behind the empty metal shelf. I nod, and the rest of us watch anxiously as Thomas starts out of the room and back into the hallway. But before he reappears near the machine down below, ink begins to web up the walls in a terrifying manner. Susie’s the first to turn around, and her scream is piercing.

Wally, Katharine, Grant, and I turn as well, seeing the demon Bendy is once again in our paths.

“THOMAS! HURRY!” Katharine leans over the balcony to shout to him, and I watch as he desperately hacks at the machine with his blade. The distorted sounds coming from the dying machine resemble thunder, strangely enough, as well as a mechanical hissing. 

Though the monster doesn’t do anything but stare for a moment, his heartbeat audible while he tilts his head to the side. He looks towards me, nearly causing Wally to scream just as Susie did. Grant just looks up at the horrifying form our boss has taken, and Katharine can barely move.

This Bendy reaches out, yanking my hand from my pocket and observing the dark and nearly jet black veins. The machine is still being hit, but Thomas desperately shouts “I’M ALMOST DONE!” while we maintain our panic. 

My hand is still almost translucent, and I notice the darkening of my veins goes up my arm and stops at my elbow. Everyone stares with wide eyes.

“PULL THE SWITCH!” Thomas screams, but no one responds because of the demon standing right in front of us. Bendy’s hand tightens around my wrist, and his gloved hand raises up. Wally backs away, while Grant and Katharine snap out of the trance and move to do as Thomas says. Susie’s still screaming, unable to stop.

I stumble backwards, and the demon pushes me over the balcony rail just as the ink starts to melt off of him.


End file.
